The Family Detective
by I 4 2 write
Summary: Loosely based on the Nicholas Cage movie The Family Man, not to be confused with Family Guy. Sherlock helps a homeless man, and is given the strange gift of being able to see what would happen if he'd decided to get married. Sherlolly. I promise it's better than the summery and first chapter.
1. Chapter 1

"Leaving England? Are you serious?"

Molly nodded. "Tom's been offered a great job in America, Sherlock. We've been engaged for a long time now. We both think it's time to take this step and finally get married. This will be the perfect way to start our lives together."

"Oh. Well I suppose if you'll really be happy there. I just thought that even after you got married you'd still be working at Bart's."

She shrugged. "I'll just get a new job once we're settled." She couldn't quite look at him. "I'll make arrangements before I go so you'll still be able to get whatever body part you might need."

"Thank you." He said that more coldly then he meant to. Work continued as it always did. Molly assisted him. He ran the tests he needed in Bart's lab and called Lestrade to let him know what was needed to solve the case. It was all so routine a robot could have done it. He kept himself focused on task, shutting out feeling for most of the day. He was about to leave the lab when he looked at Molly.

"You're leaving soon, aren't you?"

She nodded. "In the morning. I know, I should have told you sooner."

"In the morning?" It wasn't often he was surprised by anything. "I should have been able to deduce that."

"Well, you've been preoccupied with cases lately."

"But I still should have seen that."

Molly looked like she wanted to say something else. But turned away. Sherlock had no idea what to do about it, but he could tell from her expression she was about to cry. There was no way he'd admit it, but he was far from happy himself. He knew she was engaged, but now it felt real. Molly was really going to be gone from his life.

Sherlock walked away from Bart's, and decided he needed a cup of coffee. He could have asked Molly for it, but it would have been a reminder of how she'd brought him coffee the day he'd met John. He'd treated her like a servant, and he felt guilty beyond words over that now. It was just too late. He'd lost any chance with her during the two years he was gone. Ironic that it was during that time he realized how important she was to him.

Still, this was better. Nothing could ever have come of it anyway. He didn't want a married life, kids, being domestic. He'd have been miserable, and made her miserable too. Why should either of them spend a life with her held at arm's length, helping him when he needed it and denied a happy life otherwise? He kept telling himself that as he went into the nearest place where he could get coffee.

Two people were arguing at the cash register, one who worked there and one who was obviously from the streets.

"Look, all I want is a meal. I'm not trying for trouble," he tried to smooth things over as Sherlock watched.

"Then why'd you give me this phony bill?"

"It's real! I got it by doing an odd job today."

Sherlock didn't recognize the man as part of his homeless network, but then London was full of homeless people.

"Here, can I see that?" the homeless man gave Sherlock a suspicious look before handing him the bill. Sherlock examined it. "It's genuine. Now either give him his meal, or let me buy it for him."

The man behind the counter looked at him a moment before recognizing him. "Aren't you that detective, Holmes?"

"Sherlock Holmes, yes. So you know I would recognize if this were fake."

He stared at the bill a moment before accepting it and giving the homeless man his meal. Sherlock decided to get his coffee elsewhere and walked out. The homeless man followed him, meal in hand.

"Mr. Holmes? Thank you."

"Sherlock, please." He'd never cared for being called Mr. Holmes. "And it wasn't that big of a deal." He walked a bit ahead before turning back. "Do you need a job or something? I pay the homeless for information if it's useful."

The homeless man laughed and started talking to someone who wasn't there. "Did you hear that? He's actually trying to save me." He looked back to Sherlock and held out his hand. "My name's Craig Edwards." Sherlock reluctantly took the offered hand. Craig might have a mental illness of some sort, or be on something although his eyes said otherwise, but he wasn't dangerous. "And I don't need a job. Now, what do you need?"

Sherlock couldn't imagine what Craig could offer him.

"I already have everything I need."

Craig studied him. "You have it in you to be a good man, Sherlock, so I'm going to give you a reward. I'll give you a glimpse."

"Glimpse?" Sherlock asked. "Glimpse of what?"

"You'll see," Craig told him. "You'll like it. No one does at first, but eventually they all do."

Craig started walking in the other direction, and Sherlock let him. He couldn't see what he'd been talking about, and he didn't like being confused. What wouldn't he like now, but would like later? It wasn't as if the homeless man had the power to do anything to him. He wasn't a master criminal, and he hadn't made any move to harm him. In fact he honestly thought he would give him a gift. Yet the whole experience left Sherlock unnerved.

His latest case had been as good as solved by his tests at Bart's that day, and he didn't feel like doing anything in particular. He debated playing the violin or watching some crap telly just to do a few deductions on the people on the shows. In the end he decided against it, and just went to bed, trying to push aside the thoughts of Molly leaving and Craig's strange offer of a glimpse.


	2. New Morning, New Life

When Sherlock woke up the next morning, the first thing he was aware of was something- correction- someone in his arms. He opened his eyes to see Molly Hooper snuggled close. She looked comfortable, and so happy. She gave a little contented moan, and nestled closer. Before Sherlock could pull away and try to deduce what was going on, a little girl came bounding into the room. She jumped on the bed, hugged him tight aroundthe neck, and began to cheer.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Time to get up!"

Sherlock bolted into a sitting position. Daddy? What was she talking about? Yet one look at her was enough to confirm that. Those eyes were an exact copy of Sherlock's own. Her hair was a long version of his curls. Her face, however, was a duplicate of how Molly's must have looked as a child.

"Sophie sweetheart let your father relax. We'll have the whole day together. Now, do Mummy a favor and go see if Ian is awake."

Add another odd question. Who was Ian? It was a Scotch name, a variant of John, but otherwise it didn't mean anything to him. Whoever Sophie really was, could Ian be her brother? A baby's cry confirmed his suspicions, but there was no way he was these children's father. He wasn't Molly's husband. Molly wasn't even married yet. She was going to marry Tom. What was Molly doing here and where did these children come from? Molly apparentlywasn't confused as she kissed him.

"Go back to sleep, Sherlock. I'll have the coffee ready when you get up." As if he was going back to sleep. He jumped out of bed as Sophie re- entered the room.

"Ian's awake and Uncle John, Aunt Mary, and Sheryl are here." Sheryl was just a baby herself, so why did Sophie say her name like she was her best friend? Sherlock threw on his clothes as soon as everyone was out of the room and bolted down the stairs. When he reached the door, John and Mary were there, arms loaded with presents. With them was a little girl who was unmistakably Sheryl, but at least four years older than Sherlock knew her.

Sophie hugged her best friend, and everyone was more focused on the children than on Sherlock. He took the chance to flee out the door. Why were they all acting like this was normal? It made Sherlock feel like he was escaping some sort of trap. He held up a hand to flag a cab, and remembered the lesson he'd learned years ago. Always look at the cabbie. He could never have expected it would be Craig.

"What are you doing behind the wheel?" Sherlock demanded. "I can tell anyone's job at a glance, and you're not a cabbie."

"I'm here to explain. If you want to know what's going on, get in."

Sherlock glared at him. "Something about this seems oddly familiar." That didn't stop him from getting in. He wanted answers, and this was the best way to get them. Besides, whoever he was, Craig wasn't a murderer. Sherlock slid into the back seat and they drove on.

"Well? I'm waiting for my answers."

"I already told you I'm giving you a glimpse. This is your life if you chose to marry Molly."

"So what am I supposed to do? Pretend this is real and I have a normal domestic life?"

"That's up to you," Craig answered. "But if you tell them the truth, they'll never believe it. As far as they know, this is the only reality that ever existed."

"I want what's real!" Sherlock shouted at him. "I want my old life back!"

"That's something you'll have to decide," Craigtold him.

""I've already decided. Give me back my real life."

"How many times do I have to tell you it's just a glimpse? You'll have your old life back when you've seen what you needed to see here, if that's what you want."

"How long will that take?" Sherlock asked.

"Usually not long. With you? This could take a while."

"And in the meantime I'm supposed to just pretend this is normal?"

Craig didn't answer. Instead, he drove back to where he'd picked Sherlock up. He turned back to him and grinned. "Bye."

It was obvious he wasn't going to tell him anything else. He got out of the cab, but wasn't sure about going back inside. It was still Baker Street, still home, but this wasn't the same. He had no idea how to live this life. Right now, he needed some sense of normalcy. Strange how he'd never have thought he'd want that. Then he remembered the packages.

It would be someone's birthday, that little girl's judging by the wrapping paper. It was the wrong time of year to be Sheryl's, and if it was her birthday it was more likely they'd be going to the Watson's anyway. He wasn't exactly feeling up to any kind of party, and walked the streets for a while before going home. Molly was not happy.

"Sherlock, why did you run out like that? I know some cases come up that have to be taken care of right away, but on your daughter's birthday? Was anybody's life at stake?"

Rather than answer, Sherlock looked for John. The flat still had quite a few party guests, but he found John and ledhim to where they could talk alone. He ignored anything John tried to say until nobody else could hear.

"John, does anything about all this seem off to you?"

"For most people, no. Actually even for you, running out on Sophie's birthday wasn't something I'd have expected. You were talking all week about seeing her open her presents and then you do that."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm not talking about that. You know me. Would you say I'm the type of man to get married? This isn't real. Everything about this is wrong."

John looked horrified.

"Sherlock I know what you used to be like, but I never thought you'd regret married life now."

"I'm not saying I regret it! I'm saying this isn't real. Sheryl's supposed to be a baby. Molly moved to America and married Tom. At least, she's going to. I met this homeless man last night, and somehow he changed everything.

John actually looked angry now and grabbed him by his shoulders. "Tell me you haven't taken anything."

Growing irritated, Sherlock rolled up his sleeves. "Look. No needle marks. Look at my eyes. Do I look high? I haven't taken anything since before we met except for when I had to when I went against Magnussen. I'm telling you the truth."

John felt his head. "No fever."

Sherlock brushed his hand away. "John you have to believe me. We need to get back to our real lives. I just woke up this morning and everything was upside down. I'm not the one with a problem. Doesn't this feel wrong to you?"

He was only making John more worried.

"Sherlock, I delivered Sophie and Ian. I was best man at your wedding. This is real. You know that."

The only good that came of trying to convince John was getting as thorough an exam as John could give him there, and having tests scheduledfor later that week when he couldn't find anything wrong. Sherlock didn't know what he was supposed to see in this glimpse, but it looked like he was going to be trapped here for a long time, without even John to help him escape.

AN: Thank you all so much for the reviews! They mean so much to me. Thanks also to my editor Danielle. Everyone can probably guess, but just in case Sheryl is the name John and Mary choose for their daughter in my mind. 


	3. Welcome to the Family

There was no escaping the argument with Molly, and it was useless to try telling her what he'd told John. Luckily for him, Ian started crying. Well, almost luckily. He thought Molly would break off and go take care of him. Instead, she told him "Our son needs changing."

"So change him. Besides, he's your son."

Molly could have frightened Moriarty himself the way she walked over.

"You helped make him, and after you ran out on your daughter's birthday the least you can do is change a diaper."

When did Molly become so terrifying? Was it a mother thing? Sherlock went into the baby's room and saw the child for the first time. The exact opposite of Sophie, he had Molly's blondehair, with only a hint of curls, Molly's eyes, and a baby version of Sherlock's face. Sherlock didn't think about that too much. No use getting attached to a baby that wasn't really his. He took the baby to the bathroom, found the diapers, and removed the dirty one. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smelled anything like that.

"You do remember I have an unusually good sense of smell?" Sherlock winced. How was it possibleeveryone for ten miles wasn't passing out or throwing up? "Whatever you're feeding him, you need to change it or feed him less of it. It can't be normal to have that smell and consistency." Molly didn't answer, and Sherlock had no choice but to clean Ian up and put a fresh diaper on him. "You're just going to mess in it again in ten minutesaren't you?"

Ian laughed and looked into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock stared back. Ian might have his mother's eyes as far as color and shape, but they had the same sharpenessand depth Sherlock's had.

"You understand, don't you? At least the tone of my voice. And you seem to like hearing it."

Sophie stepped into the doorway,watching Sherlock interact with her brother.

"You're not my daddy." She wasn't frightened or upset when she said it, only stating a fact.

"No, I'm not," Sherlock answered. Whatelse could he say? He'dnever held these children. He hadn't been there when they were born. He certainly hadn't taken part in their conception.

"So where's myreal Daddy?"

"I don't know. Maybe we switched lives somehow. Maybe he's in some other world. If he's anything like me though, it would take a lot of love for him to decide to get married. If he loves your mother and you kids that much, and if he has my mind, he'll find some way back."

"I know he will," Sophie said confidently. "He loves us, and he's the smartest man alive."

Sherlock smiled at that until she added 'Well,except for Uncle Mycroft."

"I hope you don't say that in front of your father. Or your uncle for that matter. He isn't as modestas me. The last thing he needs is to have his ego inflated."

She shrugged. 'Daddy always tells the truth, even when others don't like it, so he has to hear the truth too."

"I have to admit that's fair."

Sophie had a single tear on her face now. "I know Daddy will come back, but I misshim already."

"I'll try to be as much like him as I can," Sherlock told her. This wasn't his daughter, but despite himself he already felt a protectiveness for her.

"Can you make my chocolate milk the way he does?"

"I'll try. I'm sure I can figure it out."

"Do you know how to play the violin like he does so you can help me with my lessons?"

Sherlock nodded. "I can help you with that."

That caused her to run up and hug him. He froze before patting her head awkwardly.

"Don't get too used to this version of me, Sophie. I plan on getting back to my real life as soon as I can."

Sherlock decided if he was trapped in this dull, domestic life for now, he should probably do his best to pretend he was this world's version of him. After everyone was asleep that night, he checked John's blog. The early cases were the exact same as in his real life, and continued on to just before the current date. He'd discovered apparently he was at some point in the future of this world. It was good to know that even married, his work continued. He read all there was, then found the home movies Molly kept.

The first one showed their wedding. Molly was dazzling in her wedding gown. It was sleeveless, but had a more modest look than what she'd worn to Christmas that one year. He felt guilty now, remembering how he'd said she'd been trying to make up for the size of her mouth and breasts. Her wedding dress was definitely cut to flatter her figure, and her makeup was carefully applied.

Sherlock himself, orrather this world's version of him, was clearly uncomfortable in his tuxedo. Otherwise he looked happy. John, of course, was his best man. He gave a good speech, funny yet touching. He wished Molly luck and jokingly warned her what she was in for. When the speech was over and the party started, there were jokes about how there was no attempted murder this time.

Everyone had to take a turn teasing Sherlock about finally letting himself fall in love. A few people asked Molly if she was sure she knew what she was doing. Then the video cut to them dancing. Sherlock gracefully led Molly around the floor in their first official dance as husband and wife. Thecamera zoomed in on their faces.

"We're so happy. I'm so happy. Why would I be happy giving in to emotion like that? Why would Molly be happy when she's getting me for a husband?"

The next video he played showed Sophie's birth. When the crying baby girl was put into his arms, he looked terrified. John couldn't resist a laugh.

"Sherlock you've faced murderers, terrorists, every type of criminal there is. You're afraid of holding your own baby girl? Besides, you've held Sheryl before."

"But John, I'm responsible for her," his video self answered. "What if I break her or something?"

He wasn't allowed to protest farther. John put the baby in his arms. She stopped crying even though he was fidgeting rather than holding her still.

"Yes. Er- nice to meet you Sophie."

She smiled up at him, and Sherlock felt himself melt a bit at the same time the version of him on the screenheld her closer. Switching videos, he saw more of the same. There were birthday parties, ballet and violin recitals. Sherlockhad to laugh at the video of him showing Sophie how to pirouette. It must have been taken without his realizing it and he saw himself turn to whoever as running the camera and order it turned off.

There was no question this was the life of a happily married man. He looked at the golden band that had somehow gotten on his finger. It was well polished, fingered often. When he took the ring off he saw the inside was dirty, seldom removed. The exact opposite of the ring he'd examined on his first case with John.

Whatever had happened to this world's Sherlock, he obviously wouldn't have life any other way. It was so unbelievably different from what he wanted for himself. He was glad John was happy with his wife and daughter. He honestly, truly cared about Molly. But marriage? He couldn't see himself in that life. Were he and this world's Sherlock that different? Or had this world's Sherlock learned to value married life the way he had learned to value friendship?

AN: Happy Valentine's Day. I can't thank my reviewers enough, and will try to send you each a message about your comments. As always, thank you to my editor Danielle, and I just feel like saying congradulations to Benedict Cumberbatch Hunter and Sophie on their wedding today.


	4. Progress

Married life was filled with changes. Sherlock had expected that, but he hadn't expected to actually feel the emotions that would go along with it. He wasn't like normal people, and had locked away feelings for most of his life. He'd learned to feel for his friends, that it didn't have to hurt or interfere with his mind. Molly was important to him. Being married to her though was something different.

The first few days it was strange just waking up to her every morning. All he could focus on was how this wasn't how life should be. There were a few nights when he didn't go to bed, making an excuse to stay up. He'd give everyone time to fall asleep. Then he would play his violin quietly trying to get his thoughts in order. Molly left him to himself the first few times, but was too worried and loved him too much to not eventually investigate.

One night he was too absorbed in his thoughts and the random notes that accompanied them to hear her walk up. He only felt he wasn't alone. He turned to look, and Molly was standing there. He didn't say anything, but changed the music to one of her favorite melodies. They spent hours that way, finally falling asleep together on the sofa. Molly called in to work the next morning, and asked Mrs. Hudson to watch Ian while Sophie was at school. She and Sherlock spent the day just resting in each other's arms.

After that, Sherlock came to bed when she did. Normally he was awake before she was. He'd get up and make breakfast a few times. Others, he found himself watching her sleep. He couldn't explain why he was so fascinated by that. It should have become routine to him soon. Instead, it felt like a new experience each morning.

The morning came when he woke up in an empty bed. For a few seconds, he wondered if he was back in the real world. He felt an uneasiness, but that was wrong. If he was in the real world again he should be glad of it. The sleep cleared from his head, he saw he was in a double bed, not his own single one. The pillow beside his had been laid on. This whole experience was affecting his mind. Why else would he be relieved?

Molly came in carrying in a tray with two plates. Her hair weren't brushed yet, and she was in her nightclothes. Technically, it was one of his shirts and a pair of pajama pants. So many things in this world defied logic. She shouldn't look attractive this way. She smiled at him, and he wondered why he'd ever said her mouth was too small. Somehow she was becoming prettier, even though she wasn't doing anything differently to herself.

"I'd have made breakfast," he told her. She leaned in and kissed him.

"You may be a graduate chemist, but you have no idea how to combine food ingredients." She slid in to bed beside him. It was a cold morning, her being close was like an extra blanket, comforting and warm. This world wasn't what he had been used to. That didn't mean it was unpleasant. He forced himself to remember not to get accustomed to it. This wasn't right, and he didn't belong here. The only thing that bothered him was it was getting harder to remember that each day.

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Cases still came. Sherlock found having a family didn't change anything that way. Sometimes a case came up when Sophie had a violin or dance recital, but small delays didn't keep him from being able to solve problems. In fact, he was more relaxed than he used to be. Before long he realized he wasn't going through anywhere near as many cigarettes.

John couldn't always come with him on cases. Sometimes there were just things at home that had to be done. Sherlock still liked to have someone come with him on cases, and remembered Molly had enjoyed coming with him. She wasn't surprised when he started asking her to come. This version of him must ask her fairly often. She was an excellent assistant. Not only was she observant, but through he questioning she often redirected his thoughts on the right path sooner than they would have been otherwise.

There was one mystery at home Sherlock had yet to solve. Molly kept a piece of string made into a ring. She wore it right next to her wedding ring, and clearly treasured it just as much. Sherlock couldn't see why. It matched the fiber of his coat, and he'd noticed a slight fray that hadn't been there before. When had this world's version of him torn his coat to make a ring for her? Why had he done that? He could buy her jewelry easily enough, but that meant more to her than gold or diamonds. It must be attached to some very special memory.

He couldn't ask her about it. She would have been hurt that he didn't know why it was so special. There was still someone he could ask. Only Sophie knew and believed the truth. She was little, but she had his curiosity about things. He was sure she would have asked questions about how her parents ended up together, and when he asked he found out he was right.

"Sophie, why is that piece of string so important to your mother? I know your daddy gave it to her, but I don't understand why."

"He didn't have a ring when he asked her to marry him."

"He didn't think ahead and plan the moment?" That didn't sound like him. He wouldn't just suddenly ask her to marry him. He'd even had a ring for his fake proposal to Janine.

"He couldn't. He had to ask her to marry him fast, otherwise it would have been too late. She'd have gone away. I guess Daddy didn't want to get married until he thought couldn't get married."

He could believe that. He knew what he had felt when he'd realized Molly was engaged, and how he hadn't noticed that when he should have. He supposed that's why he didn't realize Molly was leaving in his own world. The heart definitely affected the brain, and sometimes his heart simply wouldn't let him see things he didn't want to.


	5. Joys of Fatherhood

Sherlock liked children well enough. He'd been shocked and a little hurt when the girl who'd been kidnapped had been afraid of him, and he liked little Archie from the wedding party. He'd never been able to picture himself as a father, but despite his determination, he was getting attached to Sophie and Ian. Sophie was intelligent enough for him to have conversations with, even at her age, andhelped him to fit in here. Ian didn't talk yet, but there was such a light in his eyes that there was no doubt he was clever.

Sophie had gotten out the Cluedo board game, andSherlock was enjoying a good game with her. They'd both been awake early, and had time for a game before school. Molly laughed when she saw the two of them.

"You know your father isn't allowed to play Cluedo, Sophie. Not after the fight he and your uncle John got into over it."

"But Mummy," she protested, "Sometimes it actually is possible for the victim to have done it."

"Try convincing your Uncle John of that," Sherlock laughed.

Molly smiled and turned to Sophie. "Come on you. You need to go to school and I have to go to work. Sherlock, remember you're in charge of running some errands, doing a little housework, and watching Ian."

Until then, Sherlock had convenientlydeleted the memory of Mrs. Hudson telling him she was going to visit her sister that week. He started to argue, but Molly wasn't allowing it.

"You don't have a case right now, and you need to spend more time with the children. Before Sophie's birthday those kids were your life, and now it's like you're afraid to be near them. You can't just avoid them." He knew that was true, but he couldn't give her an explanation. "Now I've left a list of things to do, and the rest of the time you can spend with Ian." Leaving him no option, shewalked with Sophie out the door.

He'd never bothered with housework before. When John had lived with him, things had been kept a little neater, even if there were the occasional body parts around and beakers of chemicals lining the kitchen counters. Now that John lived with Mary, Sherlock rarely bothered to clean things. He had everything where he wanted it anyway, and why pick up when it would get messed up again? Apparently that wasn't allowed with children around. He already knew body parts weren't allowed in the flat. Neither were chemicals that might be toxic. Was all this cleaning really necessary though?

Ian didn't sleep as often as most babies. True, he was not a newborn. He was able to crawl, and stand if he hung on to something, although he hadn't actually taken his first steps. Still, weren't all babies supposed to sleep most of the day? Sherlock put in a DVDhe reasoned must be one of Ian's favorites since Sophie was already beyondthat level. He hoped Ian would focus on it, but it didn't hold his attention long. Discovering, playing, getting into trouble,now that was more interesting!

Sherlock eventually gave up on the house work. There wasn't much hope of getting anything done when the baby messed things up as quickly as he cleaned. He decided to get the shopping and banking done. That would have gone better if Ian hadn't decided to grab everything in reach of his arms and put it in the cart at the store, and try to play with the ATMmachine, pressing so many buttons it froze. When a woman said what an adorable baby he was, Sherlock was temptedto ask if she wanted him. Molly probably wouldn't have been happy with him for that.

When they got home, Ian started getting fussy. His diaper was still clean, so Sherlock felt fairly certain it was because he was hungry. He got out the baby food, and sat Ian in the high chair. Sherlock wasn't sure yet if Ian was like him and just didn't care to eat or if he was justfussy. The peas were rejected. They ended up on Sherlock's shirt. Carrots must not have been that appetizing either. A bit of the orange goo ended up in Sherlock's hair. And the rest on his trousers. By the time Ian had finished eating, Sherlock was sure the baby had eaten one whole jar of food compared to seven smeared all over.

It was not the best time for Mycroft to call. Of course, that was the time he chose. Sherlock answered it irritably.

"Not a good time, brother of mine. What do you want?"

"Merely to see how your day alone with my nephewis doing."

He must have had a camera hidden somewhere and been watching.

"I'm managing. Everything is under control."

"Hmm, I see to remember someone thinking it was fun to fling food at me when he was about that age." Mycroft was barely keeping from laughing.

"Either help or shut up!"

"I would, brother, but I have a very important meeting today. I couldn't risk my suit looking like that. Have a nice day."

Sherlock hung up, and decided the new baby food paint job on the walls could be cleaned later.

The consulting detective known for spending days without sleep was too exhausted to lift his head. He tried putting Ian down for a nap, but the baby kept clinging to him. He screamed as soon as he was in his cot.

"No, I'm tired, and with all the trouble you've caused today you must be too. You've been fed. Your diaper is clean. We've played all day. Aren't babies supposed to need lots of sleep?" Ian tried to snuggle into his arms. "No. I'm angry with you. I'm not going to let you cuddle now. Time for sleep."

Nobody was going to get any sleep at this rate. Finally, Sherlock worked out a "compromise," with Ian. He arranged pillows and blankets on the floor, and shut the door to the room so Ian couldn't get into trouble. WhenSherlock actually let himself sleep, he could fall asleep quickly. Ian, on the other hand, wasn't at all tired, and began looking around for more interesting things than Sherlock's hand. On the side table, within reach, was a bottle of baby powder.

Molly came home about an hour later. Sherlock opened the eyes at the sound of her footsteps and looked at her. She looked halfway between annoyed and amused.

"Sherlock, you were watching Ian?"

"Of course I was. Never took my eyes off him for a second."

"Have you looked at yourself?"

"Yes Ian splattered some food on me and I was too busy and too tiredto change but-" He looked at himself and saw a layer of white powder. Not only was he coated, but the carpet looked like there'd been an indoor blizzard. The empty powder bottle was beside Ian who was sleeping innocently. Molly fought hard not to laugh, but lost the battle.

"I'll clean it up." Sherlock got up and brushed himself off. A little more powder on the floor wouldn't make a difference. Molly went and grabbed the vacuum. When she came back she still looked ready to laugh.

"You're worn out from one day watching a baby? What happened to you staying up for days on end?"

"I never had an opponent so determined to make my life miserable before." He couldn't help laughing a little himself. Ian might have driven him to the point of insanity and exhaustion, but there were definitely thoughts and ideas in that little head. Ian had a playful spirit, and Mycroft told enough stories of the trouble Sherlock used to get into at that age. It would be interesting to see what that baby was like when he was a little older.


	6. Like Father Like Daughter

Even though Sherlock was becoming fond of the children, he still didn't think of himself as their father. He felt closer to Ian since their day together. He could see Sophie had been her father's special little girl. It was no use denying he cared about them now, but it was no different than how he felt about little Archie. At least, that's what he told himself. He wasn't even sure how he'd handle it if one of them got in trouble. Then one day he found out.

He'd been in the middle of a case, investigating a supposed murder. From looking at the scene, Sherlock was fairly sure it was an accidental poisoning. He'd been about to explain why to Lestrade when his phone rang. The number listed was Sophie's school. Automatically he feared the worst. What if she was missing or injured? He reminded himself his first rule was not to theorize without all the facts, calmed himself, and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Holmes? This is Mr. Renolds." Her teacher, which was good. Someone higher ranking would probably have called if she'd been hurt or kidnapped.

"Something's happened with Sophie?"

"She's upset, but not hurt if that's what you mean. Could you come to the school please? There's something I'd like to discuss with you, and I'd rather it be in person."

Why couldn't this happen when Molly had a day off? He'd had enough trouble in school himself when he was Sophie's age.

"I'll be there as soon as I can be."

He hung up, wondering what could be wrong. He thought of bullying. He'd been bullied himself in school. Sophie had always seemed to love school though, and got along relatively well with her classmates. Still, there was always a first time. Her grades couldn't be the problem. He gave Lestrade the information he needed and headed to the school. He got his answer as he approached the classroom and heard them talking.

"But I'm telling the truth! I didn't cheat."

"Lying about it will only make it worse."

So that was it. The moron actually thought Sophie cheated. No wonder she sounded near tears.

"Sophie?" He stepped into the room, and the little girl ran up and hugged him. He had his arms around her as he glared at the teacher. "Do you want to explain why my daughter is crying?"

"The children were given an aptitude test today, Mr. Holmes," he answered. "This is the test Sophie turned in." Sherlock took the offered paper and looked it over.

"Yes, I see the problem," he answered, pretending he hadn't heard what he had. "Sophie is far too advanced for this class."

"Mr. Holmes, there is no way Sophie could possibly have done this well on her own."

Was he insulting Sophie's intelligence?

"And why is that? Did you actually see her copy from another student's paper? Look at notes she wrote in her hand? Try to peak in a book?"

"Well, no."

"So the only reason you're accusing her of cheating is because she did so well?"

Mr. Renolds seemed to have shrank.

"It's not a test to see what a student has learned, Mr. Holmes. It's designed to test a child's natural abilities."

"In other words, to measure their intelligence. I've always felt Sophie's can't possibly be measured. I do, however, have serious doubts about yours."

Now Mr. Renolds was fidgeting.

"Of course she's smart. We know that. And it's true we've never seen how she could do with a real challenge before. It's just that sometimes she doesn't bother doing her homework. We catch her staring into space with her hands steepled under her chin. Smart as she is, she couldn't get this kind of score."

"She's bored!" Sherlock shouted. He recognized the symptoms so well. "The homework doesn't challenge her enough, so why should she bother with it? What that and the test results show is that she's too advanced for this class, not that she cheated. When you gave her something difficult, she rose to it."

"Sir," he was trying to be polite, but sounded more intimidated than anything. Sherlock was too involved in his rant to listen.

"Why bother to cheat since this wouldn't affect her grades and the results wouldn't be shared with the other students? Use your head."

Mr. Renolds had no way to keep accusing Sophie, and he knew it.

"Yes, I see what you're saying. Perhaps, if you and Mrs. Holmes agree, we could try moving Sophie up a year. The work would challenge her more, and the test results show she could handle it." Changing attitudes completely then. Sophie was jumping up and down at the idea the way Sherlock did when he had an interesting case.

"I'll be in Sheryl's class then! And I'll be learning more! Can I?"

Sherlock nodded. "I think your mother will agree."

After discussing the arrangements, they started the walk home. Sophie held his hand, and couldn't stop smiling at him. He thought she was only happy he'd helped her until she said "I knew you'd make it back, Daddy." and hugged him tight. She believed her real father had somehow come back. He'd reminded her enough of him while protecting her.

"Sophie I-" Something made him stop. For some reason, he couldn't tell the truth. He'd lied to get a case solved, but never to spare someone's feelings before. Now, he just couldn't tell her. It wasn't like that first day. She mattered to him. He enjoyed taking her to her violin and dance lessons. He wanted her to be happy. He'd been afraid when he thought for a moment she might be hurt. He loved her enough and did all the things a father did with his daughter.

Would it do any real harm, letting her believe the father she loved so much was there? Certainly he'd be back when Sherlock went back to his real life wouldn't he? When he'd woken up in this life, he wouldn't have cared. Now, all he wanted was for Molly and the children to be safe and happy. He let himself hug her back. For now at least, he really was her father.


	7. Happy Anniversary

Obviously, there were some things it was just normal for married couple to do. So far, Sherlock had avoided being "overly romantic" with Molly. It would only have affected his already damaged thinking. He was already enjoying this life too much. Besides, he wasn't really her husband. It wouldn't have been right, only a deception, even if he had wanted it. He'd known she'd want the physical intimacy sooner or later, but he was hoping for later.

He could tell later had arrived one morning when she woke him up with one kiss after another. Opening his eyes, he saw she was grinning like it was every holiday rolled into one.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully, almost singing. She slid her arms around him, kissed him again, and started removing his night shirt.

"Molly-" He started to speak cautiously. She wasn't listening.

"The children won't be awake for a whileyet, but first-" she suddenly pulled away, going to the dresser and pulling out a box. Almost bouncing with excitement, she set it on the bed. "Well, go on. You know we always open our anniversary gifts together."

Of all the things he'd deleted from his mind palace, one of them would have to be his anniversary date. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure if the date had been on the home movies he'd watched or not. He tried to cover for it quickly.

"I know, but this year I had something special in mind for this evening."

Molly had always been able to read him. Now was one time he wished she couldn't.

"You forgot our anniversary." It wasn't a question. She already knew. Lying wasn't an option.

"I'll make it up to you."

Molly gathered some clothes and went to shower and get dressed. She didn't say another word to him. He'd seen her angry before, but at least then she'd been willing to speak to him. He wondered if he should have felt angry about the situation himself. After all, she knew he could be forgetful about things like birthdays and anniversaries. He hadn't even been there when their vows had been exchanged. Not this version of him anyway. This wasn't his fault.

Yet guilt crept over him. Molly had always been someone he could rely on. He knew without doubt he could put his life in her hands. He'd relied on her, but she'd never been able to rely on him. She deserved better. Why of all people did she have to marry him?

He started to think about the Molly he knew in his world. He'd never be sure if she knew, truly knew, what she meant to him. He'd tried to tell her, but he'd never really shown her. Now, he'd never have that chance. When and if he was back in his own world, she would be gone. Now, he was rethinking his time here. He could, at some level, make things up to Molly. He could show her she was important to him. He could make things a bit more right, if not completely.

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"Here's your chocolate milk." He handed Sophie her glass. He took a sip and smiled in approval. Lucky he knew how to make it now that she believed her real father was back. "So, what do I do now? Get her chocolates, or flowers or something? Jewelry? Women like jewelry, right?"

She looked at him the way he used to look at Anderson. Wow, no wonder Anderson had hated him.

"You forgot your anniversary! The best jewelry in the world isn't going to fix that."

He groaned. "You're right. Forgetting an anniversary is pretty bad isn't it? That piece of string means more to her than her diamond engagement ring. This calls for something sentimental, something she'd think is special. She likes solving puzzles with me. She liked it when I told her she did count and how much she mattered to me. So something that shows not just love, but appreciation. That I don't just take her for granted." Even though he did, so often.

If he could turn on the charm enough to convince Janine he was in love with her, so he felt sure he could come up with something to make Molly forgive him. A plan began to take shape. He grinned.

"I think I know how to make this anniversary very special for your mother."

He spent the day making arrangements, and luckily everything was ready in time. Molly was at work when a note came. On the envelope was the number one. She recognized Sherlock's writing, and was still angry with him. She wouldn't have opened it, but curiosity got the better of her. She unfolded the note and read:

_My dearest Molly, this first note will find you in the building where we first met. In this building a gift is hidden. It will be found near something connected to the first time you worked up the nerve to ask me out. We've come so far on our journey since then. It's time now to retrace our steps._

Now Molly was completely intrigued. The first time she'd asked him out? That had been for coffee, even if he'd only realized a long time after what she'd been asking. So at the cafeteria? She went and searched by the coffee machine. It wasn't there. She thought she'd gotten the clue wrong, until she remembered his answer. Black, two sugars. She searched through the sugar, and found a small package was taped to the drawer. With it was an envelope numbered two. She pulled them off, and on the note was written _your_ _first gift for our first year of marriage, with one more to follow for each year. The second is where you helped me when I needed you most._

Her first thought was of when he'd jumped. She wondered if it was on the roof, but then she realized she hadn't helped him there. Her place had been at one of the windows below. She almost forgot to open the gift before following the note, but stopped to carefully open it. Inside was a pearl, ready to be strung but not yet part of any necklace or bracelet. Already she had an idea what the other gifts would be, and smiled.

Going to the window she had been at the day of his "suicide," she found the third envelope, and another pearl. The note that came with this one read _When I returned, we spent a whole day together solving cases. Look for your gifts at the places we left the flat for._

Her shift was over, so she was free to go. Another pearl was found in the building where Anderson had faked a crime to draw Sherlock's attention, and another with Sherlock's acquaintance who liked trains. The note from the last one took her back home.

_After our marriage, you gave me two children. They completed our family, and our home. Look for your next gifts there._

In Sophie's room, she found not a pearl, but an opal. Sophie's birth stone. She found the next gift in Ian's cot, a sapphire. There was only one note for the both of them.

_The last step so far in our journey together was becoming parents, but I'm counting on our journey continuing for many years to come. The gift to connect the ones I gave you so far is waiting at the place where we became man and wife. So am I, if you're willing to come. _

Yes, she was willing, but there was something she had to do first. She'd tried to impress Sherlock with her hair and makeup before. She'd seen how impressed he was when he saw her on their wedding day. Lately he'd been so distant and forgetful, the way he'd been when they'd first known each other. Maybe she could recapture some of what they'd felt that day. It was, after all, still their anniversary.

Carefully, she took out her wedding dress and tried it on. She'd had two children, but she'd kept herself fit. The dress was only slightly snugger in certain areas then it used to be. She sighed, knowing Sherlock would notice. He could tell a difference of only two and a half- fine three pounds. Still, the fit was good enough no one except Sherlock would notice. She still looked good.

Putting the gifts in her bag, she took a cab to Christ Church Spitalfields. Of course, Sherlock had wanted to get married at a sight with a Jack the Ripper connection. She'd been so overwhelmed and happy about getting married, as long as he was the groom it was the wedding she wanted. She opened the church doors, and saw it was lit with candles and the floor had been cleared. All their friends were there for the party. Sherlock, in his wedding tuxedo, had begun playing the violin as soon as he saw her. She recognized the music immediately. It was "The Anniversary Waltz."

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Sherlock was glad he'd worn the tuxedo as soon as he saw Molly. Was this how this world's version of him had felt seeing her on their wedding day? It almost felt as if this really were his wedding, for just a moment. And somehow he didn't regret that. He put down the violin, and started up a recording of the same song before holding out his hand to Molly. He did his best to look pathetic, and it must have worked. Molly took his hand, and he led her around the floor. This all felt too right, but he let himself enjoy it. He could see how happy it made Molly.

When the dance was over, he took a gold chain out of his pocket.

"You found all your gifts?"

Molly nodded, knowing what he wanted. She handed him the pearls, opal, and **sapphire**, and he strung them on the chain. Then he put it on her.

"And one more pearl to follow with your other gift each year." He kissed her. "Forgive me?"

She looked like she was going to make him wonder for a bit before finally kissing him.

The party continued, and it was late by the time everyone was back home. Molly held his hand on the cab ride home, and the look in her eyes said she'd definitely forgiven him. He found himself with his arm around her, but couldn't quite remember when that had happened. All day, he'd really been thinking about her, in a way he'd rarely let himself do. She'd never refused to help him with anything, no matter how he'd treated her. As he'd arranged her gifts, he'd had to think about that. He was always telling people they saw but didn't observe. With Molly, he'd observed, but was finally seeing. Then when they'd danced, he hadn't wanted that moment to end.

"How can you do that?" Molly asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"Do what?" He really needed to learn social signals. Was she angry at him again for something? Her expression said no, and her voice was soft.

"Look at me like you haven't woken up next to me every day for years and seen me every day."

"I think I'm just starting to see you."

The children were soon asleep, and Sherlock and Molly were in their bedroom. There was no doubting what the way she held his hand and the way she was looking at him were telling him. This time, more nervously then he'd ever admit, he gave in.

It was the ultimate high. As insane as it sounded, Sherlock found himself wondering if it was impossible to overdose. He'd always believed feelings inhibited the mind. Now there was no doubt. All he could think about then was Molly. It wasn't just a physical thing. This was somehow feeling transformed into the physical, and it was extremely confusing. He couldn't even tell if they were two separate people or one.

Highs were always followed by a crash. Sherlock knew that all too well. What sort of crash would follow this? Then, just when he thought he would drown in it all, suddenly he and Molly were separate in their own bodies again. It seemed so unreal, but Molly was still there. Her head was resting on his chest, and when he took her wrist he could feel her pulse race. In that, her eyes, and in a hundred other things he read her love for him.

He knew now that he loved her, and had loved her for a long time. She wasn't clever, bold, and all too tempting the way Irene was, yet she'd never failed to help him, always trustworthy and wise in her own way. And she was so strong, strong enough now to stand beside him, not under his feet. He'd let Irene into his mind palace, the woman who'd beat him. Now, part of him in every way, was the woman who counted.

His lips met hers, and when they separated again he whispered "I love you Molly Holmes." Only once he'd said it did he realize it was the first time he'd thought of her as anything except Molly Hooper.

AN: I chose that particula church because I saw it on a Jack the Ripper tour. It was in the the area where the murders took place, and used in the movie From Hell. I think if Sherlock ever did get married it would be there. It actually does have removable seats, at least in the pictures I saw of the inside. I only ever saw the outside.


	8. Time to say Goodbye

There had been many times John had complained about them running out of milk because Sherlock had used it up in one experiment or another, usually to grow bacteria. Only rarely had he just gone grocery shopping. Now, he found himself at Tesco's, with milk, bread, and eggs ready to be paid for. He laid them on the counter,and the cashier turned to him. It was Craig. Sherlock felt a wave of sickness and cold each threatening to overwhelm the other, and his heart threatened to stop as Craig smiled at him.

"Well, look at you now! Doing the grocery shopping, probably taking out the rubbish too. The picture of domestic bliss. I knew you'd get to like this life."

"I know why you're here, so let's not play games," Sherlock told him, almost visciously. "I'm not going back. I'm not losing them. You gave this life to me. You said it was a gift. It's not a gift if you take it back."

"I said it was a glimpse," Craig reminded him. "Glimpses are temporary."

"You also said I'd have my old life back if I chose. I choose this life. I can't go back. Molly will be gone, married to that moron Tom. Sophie and Ian will never exist." Grief overcame anger, and he felt the sting of tears. "Please. I've never begged for anything in my life, but I'm begging for this. I have a family, and I love them. There is nothing I wouldn't do to keep my family."

Craig looked at him sympathetically as he spoke.

"If you truly love them, you'll figure out how to keep them. If you can't figure out how to keep this, you never really wanted it to begin with. Go home and spend tonight with them. The groceries are on me."

Sherlock made it home as fast as he could, his mind racing to think of the answer to how to keep this. No answer came to him. He had no magic powers, and nothing he could observe or deduce could solve this. Craig had said he had to love this life enough. He'd never been happier, and he would go through anything to protect his wife and children. He belonged here. He knew he did. Nothing had ever been more real to him. If this wasn't his life anymore, he couldn't see the point in ever getting out of bed again. How could he love this life and these people more?

He tried to spend the evening normally. He couldn't tell anyone the truth. Even Sophie believed her "real" father was back. No one would ever even know, he realized. This world's Sherlock would probably return. He'd existed before, after all. They would never know in some other world, he was suffering torture without them, knowing they existed, not dead but forever beyond his reach. He'd almost have prefered them being kidnapped by Moriarty. At least then he'd have a chance to get them back. He shook his head. No, that was wrong. This way they'd be happy. Their lives would continue. Somehow he'd cary on with his work,for John's sake, but he knew he'd never recover from this.

For the first time since he'd started going to bed when Molly did, he let her go to their room without him. Their room. Not just his anymore. He couldn't face waking up alone there the next day. Yet he needed to spend every last moment he had left with them. He went to take one last look at each of his children. His children. His amazing, brilliant little Sophie and his little monster Ian, who was so much trouble but so much like him.

As he looked at each of them, he tried to force himself to not let sentiment overwhelm him. He tried to remember that this had never really been his life. It might have been, if he'd let himself feel and be the man Molly could be happy with. If only he could have gone back to who he was before all this happened, made himself just accept that he'd never see Molly again, and his children would never exist. Then it wouldn't hurt so much. But for now, they did exist, and Ian was starting to cry. It was instinctive now for Sherlock to pick him up. He'd even learned what cry meant what. All Ian wanted now was to be held.

"I'm right here, Ian. It's OK. Let's not wake your mother, all right?"

He carried Ian downstairs, and settled down on the couch. The baby yawned, drifting off again. Sherlock wondered if he stayed awake all night, would everything just disapear around him? What if he kept a tight hold on all three of them? Yet even as he thought it, he knew it couldn't work. He held Ian tight as Molly came down the stairs. She looked worried about him.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

He let out a shaky breath. "What's always wrong with having everything you never knew you wanted. It can be taken away and then it hurts."

She sat down beside him.

"You're worried about someone like Moriarty? We knew you had enemies before we married. We said we'd face that together."

How could he answer?

"No, no one's in any danger of that. Just- before now I always locked everything away. That's why. Loving means you have to be afraid of loss. Now, I love you and the children too much to change back to how I was. If we're separated, I couldn't just accept that the way I could have before."

She held him, wrapping her arms around both him and Ian.

"The children and I aren't going anywhere. You don't have to be afraid of that."

She'd never know she had no control over that. He could only hold her close, and when Sophie also came down the stairs, she joined them on the couch. Sherlock stayed awake long after they were all asleep, everyone just snuggled together. He kept fighting sleep, not wanting to lose a moment, but when he closed his eyes for half a second, he opened them to the couch being empty except for him. The pictures of Molly, Sophie, and Ian were gone. He could feel their absence, his flat so empty it was as if the air itself had been sucked from it.

AN: sorry if the typing is off on this. Technical errors. One chapter left.


	9. Reunited

It should have been like waking from a dream. Only months before, he would have felt that way. Now, it was like being pulled into a nightmare. He fingered where the ring should have been on his hand. There wasn't even a tan line where it had been. There was no sign any of it had ever happened. He knew there wouldn't be, but he kept walking through the flat searching. There must be one of Ian's toys, Sophie's child sized violin, and a lipstick tube Molly left lying. Anything. He needed some small piece of that life to hang on to or he was going to lose his mind.

"Why do people have to lose something to know how important it is?" He moaned, but of course no answer came. Molly and the children weren't there, never would be there. He sat there, not moving until well after sunrise. He looked at his phone, and saw it was only the morning after he'd met Craig. By now Molly was- actually he didn't know when her flight was. She was probably at the airport by now. He didn't know if he could catch her there or not. Even if he could, what would it change? She was engaged, soon to be married. He couldn't just expect her to call it off and stay with him.

And yet- he couldn't just let her walk out of his life. He had to try, or at least talk to her. He dialed her number, but it went straight to voicemail. He didn't even know when her flight was, or if she was leaving from Heathrow, Gatewick, or one of the smaller airports. Still there were ways to find out quickly. He realized just how desperate he was as he dialed Mycroft.

"Brother? I expect you must need help of some kind to willingly call me?" Mycroft said as he answered. Sherlock swallowed his pride.

"I need you to find out what flight Molly Hooper is taking to America."

There was a pause before Mycroft responded.

"You know better than to give into sentiment, brother. Are you sure of this?"

"I know what I'm doing, and believe me this is one time I don't care what hurt giving into sentiment brings." He already knew what pain it would be to not give into it. A few long seconds later, Mycroft spoke again.

"She's leaving on a flight to New York from Heathrow airport in an hour."

Sherlock hung up without answering, already throwing on his coat and running to catch a cab. The whole way he kept trying her number, and having someone page her. He was unable to get through. Of all days for that to happen! Molly would have already dropped off her luggage, and would likely be going through security by the time he got there, if not before. And why did there have to be so much traffic today? It was a miracle the cabbie didn't throw him out the way he kept complaining about needing to get there faster. When they arrived, Sherlock bolted from the door, catching the hem of his coat and snagging it slightly.

"Hey! You have to pay for your ride you know!" the cabbie shouted after him.

Sherlock took just enough time to throw some money at him. It would be more than enough for the fare. "I've never had good experiences with cabbies anyway!"

Racing through the airport, he spotted Molly just about to go through airport security. He couldn't have crossed without a ticket. He'd made it just in time. She couldn't hear him, so there was no choice but to shout.

"Molly Hooper!"

She turned to look at him, and started to walk over.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here? I told you I'd make all the arrangements at Bart's."

He shook his head. "This has nothing to do with that. Molly, I'm asking you to not get on that plane. Don't marry Tom." What could he say? If he told her he loved her, he doubted she'd believe him. "If you do, you're going to wake up next to him some morning and realize the only reason you ever even looked at him was because he has a passing resemblance to me. I know you're not in love with him. You've been lying to yourself. And when you look at me, I know you're still in love with me."

"Don't. Just don't. I'm marrying Tom. All my things are already on the plane."

"It's not too late to have them taken off." He took a breath. "Molly, I don't want you to leave."

She wasn't believing that.

"I'm not Janine, Sherlock. You don't have to lie and pretend. What do you really need?" She'd still help him, even put off her flight for him. Her tone confirmed her offer of help

"The same thing I needed the first time you asked me that. You." He was talking rapidly now. "Not for a case. Just you being here. I know, I've never shown you just how much you mean to me, Molly. But if you give me the chance now, I'll make it up to you."

The way she stood told him she wasn't sure whether to stay or go, but then she took a step away.

"I'm getting married to Tom, Sherlock. He has to take a later flight, but I'm meeting him in America. We're good together. Is this because you wonder what might have been?" Her voice shook a little. "I've thought of that too, but you know you'd never want a married life. We'll always be friends. We can keep in touch, but you know we'd never be happy together. Not really."

If she only knew. She turned her back on him, but he made one last effort.

"Molly I don't want you to go because I love you."

There, he'd said it. And she'd turned back around. She was listening.

"I do, Molly. I do love you. I want you with me. I told you once you deserve to be happy, and you do. Maybe you'd be happier in America, or with a different man, but not with Tom. Please. Don't marry him just because he looks like me. He isn't what you're looking for. You never were able to judge men very well."

She came closer and took his hand.

"So what does it say about me that I'm still in love with you?"

His breath came a bit short. She still loved him.

"Probably that you're insane, but if that's true we'll be all the better together. You know you can't marry him if you still love me."

She nodded. "I know." She still held his hand. "So, I'd better let him know the engagement is off."

"Maybe-" Sherlock ventured. He'd never thought he'd be proposing. Even still loving him, why would she agree after how he'd treated her? He fingered the string where his coat had been frayed.

Wait- that string that was so important to the Molly in that other world. Sophie had said her father hadn't had time to get a real ring. Maybe that other world wasn't lost to him. Maybe Molly would still agree to be his wife. He tore the string off, wrapping it around and tying it to form a ring. Molly's eyes widened, and he knew she knew what he was thinking.

"I don't know if I'm supposed to get down on one knee or wait a certain amount of time, but when have I ever done anything the way I'm supposed to? Just- now I've admitted I love you and you love me, and we've known each other long enough so do you think we could-" He was stopped by her kissing him, happy tears on her face.

"Is that a yes then?"

"Make a deduction," she told him, laughing happily as they kissed repeatedly. He'd woken from a dream, thrown briefly into a nightmare, but now the dream was here again. Molly Hooper was staying, and as soon as he could arrange it, she'd be Molly Holmes.

AN: I'm so sorry for taking so long. I want to thank all of you who stuck with it. I hope you enjoyed it.


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